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[...] It is called: 'For Peace and Happiness,' and is written by a young worker. At least, that is how he is described by Comrade Butte. In fact, he is nearly forty, has been a Communist Party official these twenty years, was once a bricklayer. The writing is bad, the story lifeless, but what is fr…

Last night Michael said (I had not seen him for a week): 'Well, Anna, and so our great love affair is coming to an end?' Characteristic of him that it is a question mark: he is bringing it to an end, but talks as if I am. I said, smiling but ironical in spite of myself: 'But at least it has been a …

'That's all right, I don't mind. You know Ella, I mentioned your name to someone today and they said you had written a book?'

'Everyone has written a book.'

'If I told my wife I'd met a real writer, she'd never get over it, she's mad about culture and that kind of thing.'

'But perhaps you'…

Now, thought Ella. Now.

But she temporised: 'Did you know it was after twelve?'

'No? Is it? Too bad. I never go to bed before three or four and I'm up by seven, every day of my life.'

Now, thought Ella. It's ridiculous, she thought, that it should be so difficult. To say what she now said …

Ella found herself in the grip of a sensation which, when she examined it, turned out to be loneliness. It was as if, between her and the groups of people, were a space of cold air, an emotional vacuum. The sensation was of physical cold, of physical isolation. She was thinking of Paul again: so po…